Significance In The Slightest Of Pens
by xXGoody Not-So-Great MeXx
Summary: You know when your favorite pen runs out of ink and you finally have to throw it away? Well, would you still dispose of it after its reached the end of its potential or would you keep it anyways? What if it has all your memories within that one pen?


Significance In The Slightest Of Pens

Hel-lo guys! I'm glad you decided to read my story and, uhh, yeah…it's kind of an implied pairing of DeixSaku and SasoxSaku but that's about it. I don't really see the need in keeping you from reading on so, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

* * *

She was just another one in his collection.

She was just another pen in a penholder where the only things that could set her apart were her ink quality, her good grip, and her fine tip when he uses her.

She could be a highlighter whose bright colors and attractive qualities would leave him obsessed with writing with her…a person who's personality and exuberance weighs up to be a good time.

She could be a fountain pen whose classical design would enchant him into sketching with her, leaving behind minor smudges from the liquid stain. Tiny mistakes which are left overlooked because of the upsides to her supposed significance.

She being a permanent marker would help him leave his mark in whatever he writes, forever in mind. Someone who's memorable and will always be somewhere in his heart and mind.

She might be able to pull off being a collectible but, being on a shelf all alone wouldn't bring happiness, would it? Through all her value it's left unspoken and without real purpose…

She even could have been a simple ballpoint pen who could make even the smallest line in the straightest possible way without too much effort. A simple silence into a good time.

She could be—what exactly? Any simple pen wouldn't do, that's for sure…or could it? Could something so simple equal up to and compare closely to one so much more suitable?

She was just another pen in a penholder. However she stood out to him…even now.

She was his now ineffective tool without ink, a chewed cap top, though still holding a comfortable grip…and memories. Oh how could he ever replace all the recollections of the duo without losing himself?

She would never had thought she would've been thrown away with all their memories…the thought was unspeakable!

She was his and he was hers…allegedly that was. Now, second guesses are all she thinks about.

She was broken like a busted inkwell…her inky tears falling across the pages, staining each with a miserable pool of dreary yet mystifying pink tears.

She was always trustworthy, even as a writing instrument. He never could be mistaken over her obvious dedication to him…or could he?

She…

She…

She had been utilized to her highest capabilities for so long and to have been abandoned and furthermore, replaced, what ever happened to them…just the two of them?

She and he had been writing soul mates, a duo of imagination and publication, and a couple who with their imaginations could overcome tragedy with words never spoken yet written for both to read over and over…

She had been the trophy of the penholder, a relic that had grown in value over time. Now, it cries its staining inks of startling pink, tears of grief running down its careful groove, flooding onto the tabletop.

She would be missed, by a few anyways. For he, no one could be certain of…his ever-changing emotions being able to complicate his thoughts.

She could tell as her fate consumed her into darkness that he had to fail to notice her for his mind would be smeared as her plain beauty even now radiated through.

She whispered softly for him to move his notion but, what good is a pen without ink? A tool without their correct parts…incomplete like her heart.

She knew she belonged there with him, that much had always been crystal clear for her comprehension yet now, where does he fit in?

How can he still remain in a heart, whose inkwell was empty, the contents of passion worn down just like the pink ink which had filled her being?

She finally sighed silently, a deeply depressing sign of resignation, as she pushed all the memories out of sight and out of mind. She was finally going to just give in and admit that they had finally reached the climax of their relationship and that it was far past time that they departed.

Her name had been Sakura, nicknamed for her pink ink and grass green plastic covering. His name was Sasori, the well known author and wood worker, whom had used her to sign autographs, his books, publication contracts, and everything.

Whenever someone questioned his reason behind using a pink pen, he just said that the best way to learn to love something is to take what you hate and apply it directly to yourself so that you learn its abilities and its perspective until you end up admiring it.

He used to hate the color pink. He found it a hideous mixture of red and white hues which engulfed any work and attracted too much attention which was unnecessary.

However, after he utilized the Sakura pen, he found that attraction was part of being an artist and that you should always leave a big mark on whatever you do.

He had to silently thank his former long time partner Deidara for letting him have it even though he was uncertain at first.

Maybe a part of why he felt so engrossed by Sakura was that Deidara had always used her to sign paperwork, one in particular.

He had used the pink pen to sign into the army and then to be drafted off into the military. He had been there, watching his lifelong companion use the ridiculously vibrant pen and once asked him afterwards.

It had been the day that Deidara had received the phone call signaling that he was to report to military camp to begin training.

Sasori asked why Deidara was imposed to use the pink pen. Deidara had replied by asking Sasori if he recalled a girl named Sakura, his old girlfriend. As soon as he received that information, the redhead knew why.

Sakura had died in an explosion where Deidara had been working in his room back when they were eighteen. He had left Sakura in there while he went outside to grab his textbook out of his car when Sakura had knocked over the explosive and it blew up.

Sasori had long forgotten Sakura Haruno for he and she never really had gotten along and despised each other with a shared hatred.

Deidara had found the pink pen abandoned on a coffee shop table which happened to be the exact same place where he and Sakura used to sit and drink coffee while debating over art-related topics.

He couldn't have helped but to think of the irony of a pink and green pen being placed specifically there to spite him. Yet he couldn't deny that he was addicted to using the simple delicate pen.

When Deidara had been deployed, he had taken the pink pen with him, despite the other soldiers' judgment. When Deidara had been killed in a military plane bombing during war, his fellow soldiers sent the pen back along with a journal filled with words of pink ink to Sasori.

When Sasori received the package it contained a letter of recognition saying that Deidara Iwa hadn't survived and had been a victim of enemy missiles and they knew of Deidara's sentimental yet bluntly essential love for the item.

Sasori, to honor his best friend and to not leave his death in vain, decided to keep the Sakura pen.

Now, lying in his bed, Sasori returned his thoughts to Deidara and Sakura and how both of them helped each other through everything. Sasori couldn't bear the idea of separation after so long; he couldn't just throw away all the value and memories of the pink pen.

Without another moment of hesitation, Sasori pushed himself out of this bed and went over to his desk where he wrote his stories and plucked the Sakura pen ungracefully out of the trash bin and held it in his palm.

The slender green length of the pen he had memorized throughout the years to near perfection. Now a thirty-two year old man, the pen was nearly fourteen years old respectfully.

He felt awful for taking away some of the pen's simple beauty by biting the cap and wearing down on the pen point to the extent where he ink was completely gone.

He pondered on how the Sakura pen was able to preserve its rosy ink all those years. It was almost unreal that one pen can last fourteen years with constant use before finally dying.

Suddenly, something miraculous began to happen which left him in an awe that was speechless beyond belief.

He heard what sounded like a roll of thunder blast throughout the air outside and he looked down at the Sakura pen whom of which unexpectedly began to abruptly restore its inkwell self-sufficiently.

As Sasori stood agape, he gazed downward at the green and pink writing utensil. That was when he noticed that not only was there pink ink bubbling upward but specks and tendrils of navy blue shot up too.

"I'll be damned…" Sasori mumbled in disbelief while holding back an ironic smile which threatened to creep upon his face.

Then, to highlight the instant, the sound of laughter filled his entire home. Not just some random laughter either, it was the laughter of the two people he thinks about the most now.

Sakura's cheerful bubbly voice vibrated the penholder, making all the other members of the collection dance in the moment.

Deidara's rumbling laughter boomed, his accent creating a magical almost enchanting atmosphere.

Then, to put a cherry upon the cake, Sasori finally admitted his true feelings and began to be overcome with a sense of lost-then-found feelings that made him join in with the other two spiritual-like friends.

Then, almost as soon as it began, the voices began to lower until it was ceased to a muffled giggling sort.

As the two soul mates voices finally came to a close, the pen was completely filled of ink, the cap was appearing as new, and the length of the Sakura pen was shining as if right out of the package.

Sasori then stood astonished and staggering on the borderline of hysteria. He clasped a solid hand over the sacred pen and silently thanked whoever left the pen there in that coffee shop where the three of them used to sit and talk about their perspectives and beliefs upon the nature of art itself.

And, Sasori would never believe he was saying it but, Deidara and Sakura were both right.

Art should be a blast hence his resolve in fireworks and explosives.

Art should be memorable at heart and should relate directly between and object of desire and that person.

As or art being forever beautiful well, I guess he had to make an exception for the moments that he was caught up in a sea of pink and blue were the emphasis of his entire perception of artistic abilities and standpoints.

That pen was sincerely magically in the least. Now, why did he ever think to throw it away in the first place?

Maybe it was the fact that it was worn down and not exactly in its prime.

Perhaps it was because he just wasn't really thinking about it as a relic of his entire life since high school but only another pen which had come to the end of its lifeline.

Conceivably, that experience was supposed to happen. Fate might have pulled a fast one and decided to remind Sasori faithfully that anything can have a function, be used to its full potential, then still be able to hold the significance that it had carried all along unknowingly.

The impact of which had taken place were forever carved into his mind and he only had one thing else to say…

"Art…is supposed to leave you breathless. Whether it be visual or otherwise, the implications of beauty is apparent."

With that said from the bottom of his heart, he placidly positioned the Sakura pen upright in its respectable penholder. The blue and pink ink was still fresh in his mind as he flicked off the lamp switch and moved quietly back to his room.

Once he laid down, he exhaled a massive breathe of fresh air which made him think that he had held his breath almost the whole time, however it wasn't true.

The Sakura pen belonged with him and he belonged with it…

* * *

So, this is one of the longest oneshots I've ever written in a long time! The inspiration for this oneshot is unknown to me I just began to write it out of the blue and it somehow evolved from a short two page story to a six page master piece. And no, I'm no arrogant but I think this story is actually worth being proud over! But, how should I know? You're the audience so you must decide! :)

Before I make you change your mind, review! Maybe fave? Please? If I get a lot of positive comments I'm most likely going to write more oneshots like this one so yeah…please? Pretty please?

Begging doesn't really help does it? :) Oh well, I'm a desperate little authoress so what? ;)

~Goody


End file.
